


The Discerning Gaze

by Dana



Series: Discretionary [1]
Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Character Study, Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 11:20:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4744391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dana/pseuds/Dana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's got an eye on the both of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Discerning Gaze

**Author's Note:**

> My internal Harry was being talkative one night, and then this happened. Most likely happens between 2x01 and 2x02.
> 
> Beta by **talkingtothesky** , once upon a time. I sat on this a bit longer than I meant to, sorry.

There's a swagger in the DI's step that's attracted the DCI's gaze – Harry sees it, though it's subtle enough, the sort of open stare than someone else might just consider a slightly unconcerned glance. Only it's him, and it's Gene, and because of that Harry knows just how meaningful it really is.

Gene, after all, is built on subtlety in all the wrong places: he does a lot of looking, does a whole lot of hitting, and the thing he does the most is keep his thoughts to himself. Gene's watching Sam, and Harry's watching Gene, and Gene doesn't have to say or do anything at all, Harry can see it all as clear as day. He's always been like that, a shut book or a closed case, and it's only their shared history that gives Harry his insight. It doesn't hurt that he's helped to mould Gene into the man he is now. He rather does fancy himself an expert when it comes to knowing what makes Gene Hunt tick.

'Thought I'd find you here, Guv.' Sam gives a weary smile, one sharp nod directed at Harry. 'Good evening, sir.'

'Always a pleasure, Sam.' Harry smiles back at him. 'Gene and I were just having a drink.'

Sam glances across the desk to Gene, and that one look says more than words alone could ever accomplish. 'Only the two glasses,' Gene mutters by way of apology, as if Sam hadn't already been aware of that little detail – and Harry's quite sure he had. Still, the corner of Sam's mouth twitches into a grin. Gene picks up said glass, sets it to his lips, takes a slow drink. Now it's Sam who is, for a fraction of second at least, openly staring.

Gene sets it down, Harry picks his own up. 'Of course, we'll be heading to the pub after we're finished here. You're coming along?' The tone of his question might have simply been a statement, down to the ease of which it is presented. Still, Sam seems to put some real thought into his response before his grin widens by a margin.

'Suppose so,' he replies, stepping up to stand beside Gene. He could have sat upon the sofa, but he's clearly the sort who doesn't like to be reminded that he's second in command. He's between them now, the only one standing – an outright display of power and control, if ever there was one. No wonder he and Gene work so well together. Gene considers himself the sheriff around these parts, and while some other, lesser man might expect complete obedience from his subordinates, Harry's somehow certain that Sam's obstinacy only helps to get the job done. Especially when that job happens to be getting Gene's head out of his own arse.

Really, come to think of it, that might just be why _they_ worked so well together, once upon a time. Harry's helped make Gene into the man he is now, yes, but there's no denying that Gene's never gone about policing in quite the same way as Harry always has. Opposites do have a way of attracting one another, and when both sides are lucky, said differences in view and methods needn't be what tears it all apart.

'Really should get yourself a decent set of tumblers, Guv.'

Gene rolls his eyes, but it's a meaningless show of bravado, as is the sneer he shoots in Sam's direction as his deputy takes up the glass Gene had already claimed as his own. He toys with it a moment, absently turning it about in his hand. There's a split second where they both stay perfectly still, simply looking at each other (and Harry sat watching _them_ , watching each other), before Sam presses the rim of the tumbler to the pink of his lower lip.

It's just the section of glass that Gene's mouth had come into contact with – Harry notices these things, he's been a detective longer than he sometimes cares to recall – a bit like kissing, only they're more than an arm's length away. Sam savours the whisky as it goes down, eyes closing, throat shifting less than imperceptibly as he swallows, followed by a soft, pleased hum. He takes a sideways look at Gene, and there's really no hiding it there: it's quite a shift in perspective, really, and Harry not even on the outside looking in. His former DI is staring at the other man, for no more than a breath, with absolute, unabated lust.

It's a dangerous game – bloody risky, if he's being completely honest – but Harry knows what he's seeing, and if it's a risk that Gene's willing to take, well, that's fair enough. It's not like Harry doesn't play his own games. Shagging his subordinates had never seemed like a good idea, there was just no getting around it. Still, Sam does present a very appealing picture, though Harry knows there should be limits. Sam's loyal, and he's clever, two traits that could quite easily get him very badly hurt. If he'd bend over for his Guv, would he be willing to take a bullet for him? Though the comparison is hardly fair, seeing how the two things aren't exactly mutually exclusive – no, they aren't even close. At any length, he doubts it's the sort of thing that would ever come up in conversation.

Sam, with a grin, licks at the hint of moisture left clinging to his lips and sets the tumbler down, a flush on his cheeks, a slight sheen of pink gone down his neck. He shrugs, another absent gesture, as though he's well aware he's gone too far, but he's enjoyed the thrill of it quite directly. Only, as Gene replies, it's clear Sam wasn't alone, enjoying his little display.

'Right,' Gene forces that out, and Harry grins as he reaches for his own glass, finishing his whisky off. 'Suppose that means we ought to be on our way, eh Harry?'

'Suppose we ought to,' Harry replies, his body aching, and he swallows it down instead of wincing in pain – his clock is running down, after all, though there's still so much he'd like to accomplish before he reaches his end (of course, that's what he's been up to, all for the sake of getting to that).

'I'll gladly take the back seat, sir.' Sam smiles, Gene huffing out a laugh as, now that he's standing, he slaps the slighter man's leather-clad shoulder. When Sam flinches, Gene gives him a very pointed look, and slaps his shoulder again.

'Hardly think the comment was necessary, Gladys. We all know you know where you belong.'

Harry, though, chuckles, shaking his head. 'Gene's driving does leave something to be desired.' Gene shoots him a look, half-wounded pride, half-hurt son.

That fragile moment passes as Gene gives a sharp nod, with him pushing it aside the way he always does. Tentative vulnerability is once again replaced with indifferent annoyance – rather more typical, that. He gives Sam a shove away from the desk, and Sam grins harder as the hold at his shoulder tightens, leather creaking loudly in the silence between two breaths. 'I can't say I know what you're talking about, sir. The Guv's driving is the finest I've ever seen.'

Harry shakes his head as he breathes out a weary sigh, and how is it Sam's able to look both bemused and contrite, at the same time?

'And really, he's got you so well trained.' He doesn't, not really. For all it's clear he's loyal, Sam's got his faults – it doesn't stop Harry from seeing what Gene must find so appealing about the less than predictable man. In a way, purely observational, he sees that appeal himself. Perhaps he and Gene are more alike than he'd considered.

He puts on a smile, one of his best. 'Don't worry, boys – I've my own car, and I don't mind driving myself. I've some old mates to catch up with anyhow, I shouldn't tarry too long at the pub.' Gene's the first to nod, and Harry's sure Sam would have as well, as he turns away from them.

Back to them now, he's the first to head out into the hall beyond Gene's office, checking the buttons of his suit jacket as the door swings shut behind him. Momentarily alone, he stops to catch his breath – seconds might pass him by, only there's no escaping the fact that he'll too shortly be followed out. Harry supposes, for all he's playing his own games, it's only right to let them play theirs – they've really only got so much life to live, any of them.

He understands their reasoning, if not the nature of it. It's up to them to take what they want while they still can, and the same quite certainly goes for him.


End file.
